I have come to realize that the word “obviously” is a lot like the word assume.
Not in its meaning, but in that asses seem to use it. Do you know what I mean?
Think about it—conjure a sentence which uses “obviously.”
Isn’t there a tone? An underlying implication?
Maybe it’s just me.
Obviously, it’s just me.
See that? Did you catch the tone?
Obviously sounds arrogant. It sounds demeaning. It sounds like it’s mocking.
I get it, I mean, if you have to say obviously, you’re inferring that what’s to follow should be known. So why say it at all?
Because of the tone.
You know it’s true; we use it to let others know how smart we are, or worse, that they’re stupid. Sometimes it’s just a band-aid sentiment, we’re conceding what we believe is evident, what everyone should already know.
Therein lies the comparison to assume- using the word makes an ass out of you and me.
Now on to overthinking… as a visual person, I love the idea of overthinking—that it’s a bridge connecting the doubt to the certain. A shortcut. We’re over thinking. We’re just a hop, skip and jump from a happy ending, a decision made, a contented conclusion. Thinking is the churning mass of rapidly flowing concern beneath us but we’re safe up here on our over-thinking bridge.
Of course that’s not what it is at all. It’s actually the opposite of a shortcut from confusion to confident. Overthinking is the swirling eddy in which we get trapped while floating down the river of life. Ports of decision are offered along the water’s edge but sometimes we just can’t decide. Or maybe we miss a harbor we should’ve stopped at but we can’t return upstream so instead we get sucked into a skeptical eddy that pulls us up, down, over, and under with an occasional thrash against the rocks just for good measure.
See how I’ve overthought this metaphor?
My last O for the In Print ABC Blog Challenge is OCD.
Obsessive compulsive disorder has become a mainstream condition. There aren’t too many who are unfamiliar with the term and its implications. I believe its conventional use lessons the importance to those truly afflicted. There should be another name for those who suffer slightly—which, I think, is most of us.
What do you call the guy who can’t stand to have loose socks lying atop the dresser but is perfectly okay to wear mismatched ones?
(Dave, you call him Dave.)
IOCC? Irrationally Obsessive Compulsive Condition?
I myself am driven bonkers by bath and beach towels folded in half (or tossed lazily over the bar or puddled on the floor) instead of folded in thirds and yet I would never bother to try and fold a fitted sheet.
They’re sheet-balls in the linen closet and I’m okay with that.
SOM? Selectively Obsessive Malady?
The inconsistencies of our mild OCD make it manageable, but still frustrating.
What’s interesting to me is that it bugs me more that he wears mismatched socks than it does to find a tossed towel. I can correct the towel folding, obviously.
Three quick O stories, less united than the title might suggest.
Yet all I hear in my head when I think O, O, O is, Straight up now tell me do you really want to love me forever- Oh, Oh, Oh!
Obviously overthinking OCD, I do.